


Like me better

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [33]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And Then He Doesn't, He's murderous on the outside and squishy on the inside, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War, Soft Bucky, Tony has a type, not team Cap friendly, this fic is soft, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: For almost a fraction of a second, Tony thinks this is it – Barnes isn’t attractive anymore, he’s not some badass bad boy; he’s a giant squishy nerd – he isn’t hot. I don’t want to take his pants off with my teeth, I don’t want to lick my way down his body and I don’t want him hoisting me up and fucking me against a wall – no, sir, I –am a giant fucking liar.





	Like me better

 

Tony only has himself to blame.

He’s always had a wild streak:  when he’d been younger, it had been both a cry for attention and an unshakeable desire to feel _something_ -something that wasn’t a cocktail of grief and self-loathing he’d ruthlessly downed since his parents’ deaths, something that wasn’t the fabricated world of scandal and headlines, something that didn’t feel like drowning in existence. It’s why Tony gravitated towards the flashy, the fast, the loud, the wild, the danger, and Barnes – well, Barnes _oozed danger_ and Tony – well – _Tony liked it._

It might be because he’s got a death wish; he’s gonna be honest, it’s an appeal.

Bad boys are a type that never goes stale, in Tony’s opinion, and the Winter Soldier is as bad as it gets in all the right ways.

There’s just something about a person clad in that deadly sort of confidence; the swagger compounded by the broadness of their shoulders and the thickness of their thighs, and the ability to exude the threat of death through his pores, and then doing it with a wink, and it’s just – Tony’s just a bisexual man standing in front of a guy with Bucky Barnes’ face, and _he’s weak._

But he can shake it off.

He totally can.

Tony is great at repressing his feelings and coping in questionable ways, it’s kind of his thing. Besides, it’s just a stupid, superficial attraction.

Barnes has no redeeming qualities.

None whatsoever. It’s a consistent reminder, a relief, something to be grateful for.

Having the Rogues back is a headache enough but feeling anything more than a stirring in his dick for a guy he already has a complicated history with is asking for it.

It’s why Tony’s glad, he is, that this attraction is puddle deep.

After a shouting match with Barton over weapons Tony _refuses to supply him with_ because _I’m not your goddamn sugar daddy, you hypocritical fucknut,_ and his day swamped with meetings of Avenger-related issues to iron out and SI board meetings Pepper insisted he behaved at, Tony has to remind himself to be thankful for things; it’s a technique he’s learned to get him through days like today, and his _thing_ over Barnes always ensures he has at least something to be grateful for.

Nonetheless, he goes down the list:

No one died. Awesome.

Rogers got benched for the next mission. Perfect.

Romanoff tried to hack into his system _again_ , and Friday toasted all her accounts and every electronic device in her possession. Serves her right.

The Witch is on permanent lockdown with _Loki_ of all people, and Strange and Wong are babysitting. Everyone involved is greatly unhappy. Fucking amazing.

And Barton’s still not getting any weapons from him.

Peter did great at the showcase. Proud of him. T’Challa handled the entirety of the Moroccan episode. Thank fuck. Rhodey is pining after Carol, and Carol’s totally pining after him, and neither are aware at all. It’s glorious. Pepper and Hope are boardroom tag-team gladiator queens. It’s terrifying. Happy and May are dating, Peter, is horrified. It’s hilarious.

And its day 32 since the Rogues’ return, and Barnes is still just a shallowly attractive monstrosity with a man-bun.

In hindsight, Tony’s day is going great.

He steps into his Workshop, and then it’s not because Barnes – Barnes is playing fetch with DUM-E. He’s all soft and happy and there’s not even a hint of his Murder Face not even when he turns and sees Tony.

Barnes seems just as surprised at his presence and fails to catch the ball DUM-E hurls at him. It bounces harmlessly off his forehead with a cheerful _fop_ , and Barnes just looks so awkwardly embarrassed about it, and – _oh god, Tony is in danger._

“Sorry,” he babbles, making it _so much worse_ , “I didn’t mean to – I was – I wanted – I saw ‘em here the first time I came in for tests, and Miss Friday said I could meet ‘em as long as I didn’t touch nothing and I -”

“You wanted to meet DUM-E?”

Barnes frowns then, a hint of Murder Face between his brows. “He’s not dumb.”

 _Oh my god,_ Tony chokes. “No, no, his name – it’s D-U-M-E.”

“Oh,” now the Murder Face is more inquisitive. “Why?”

“I was nineteen and a D-U-M-E,” Tony says finding some semblance of being back on the right ground. No one’s ever appreciated his childish sense of humor; no doubt Barnes will judge him for it and there’ll be a strike to his name and a smudge on his attractiveness and –

Barnes’ eyes bulge. “You made him at nineteen? That’s incredible, he’s –” Barnes turns his attention back to DUM-E, who’d closed the distance established between them during their game of catch, ball in his claw and drooping slightly as if he wants to rest it on Barnes’ shoulder like an overgrown puppy that wants attention, and pats his frame, breathing out, “He’s amazing.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck._

DUM-E makes a series of beeps, and Tony knows he’s _so fucking fucked_ because the oldest of his creations, his first, has decided he likes Barnes, and Tony tells himself it doesn’t have to mean anything because it _just doesn’t_.

But then, suddenly Barnes is a fixture and it all goes to shit.

It all goes to shit so fucking fast because Barnes – Barnes loves the Workshop, he loves spending time there, willingly listens to Tony ramble, actively aids in his tinkering, and God, _he has questions_ ; weird, wonderful, baffling, beautifully curious questions, and Tony – Tony’s never met an enthusiasm to match his own when he’d still found a thrill at creating for the sake of it.

For almost a fraction of a second, Tony thinks this is it – Barnes isn’t attractive anymore, he’s not some badass bad boy; he’s a giant squishy nerd – he isn’t hot. I don’t want to take his pants off with my teeth, I don’t want to lick my way down his body and I don’t want him hoisting me up and fucking me against a wall – no, sir, I – _am a giant fucking liar._

Because Barnes may get stars in his eyes over any little invention Tony has; he may get giddy over the rush of riding in one of Tony’s classic cars; he may prefer Star Trek over Star Wars and is _thoroughly convinced_ that with aliens being a thing, Tony’s probably some alien race’s deity, but what he _isn’t_ is so fucking hot that the surface of the sun _cannot compare._

He always shows up in worn jeans and a wife-beater (“To make it easy to work on the arm,” he’d said with that charming smile that could melt the clothes off a man. “Plus, if it gets dirty, I can just take it off,” he drawled with a wink and Tony dry swallows so hard he almost chokes) with that luscious dark hair in a bun Tony wants to run his fingers through and _tug_ _at,_ and that twang as he speaks and the flirtatiously tempting way he _breathes._

And the day Barnes insists Tony calls him _James_ with that sweet little smile is the day Tony regrets everything because quite frankly, _Tony is dying._

But the cherry on the cake? The most wonderful, most awful thing about it all?

It’s between them because _James_ isn’t the same outside the Workshop.

He’s got his Murder Face. He’s got his serial-killer magnetism. He doesn’t talk. It’s a baffling contrast, an odd mask to put on when he’s among people that wouldn’t hurt him, shouldn’t, and Tony should say something, he should.

Even if it makes Tony feel…special that he gets that part of James to himself.

Hell, James gets part of him that other people don’t see, and it’s fair. There are no masks here, no pretenses, its an intimacy Tony’s rarely shared, and something James hasn’t at all. It’s fair. But it’s not.

Because James should feel as safe and comfortable in the rest of the Compound, in the rest of his new home, as he does in the Workshop. And Tony doesn’t like how this might be a sign that he isn’t, doesn’t understand how he couldn’t be –

Tony should say something – so he does, “Why do you pretend to be someone else when you’re out there?”

And it’s a sign. The worst sign.

Because he definitely cares now.

This isn’t just attraction; this isn’t just puddle-deep lust.

And James looks up with bright blue eyes and a soft, small smile and says, “Because I only feel like me when I’m around you.”

And really.

Tony only has himself to blame.

 

**Author's Note:**

> EVERYTHING IS SOFT AND I DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO BE.
> 
> [Click here if you want to find out more about my work](https://everything-withered.tumblr.com/)


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